


Adult Friends

by PoppySoo



Category: Fifty Shades of Grey - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11748015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppySoo/pseuds/PoppySoo
Summary: This story, inspired by 50 Shades of Grey, is set in an AU. Ana meets Christian when she is searching for ways to spice up her love life with her husband. The relationship that ensues causes Ana a great deal of both pleasure and pain.





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is my own, original writing. No one has permission to reprint, reproduce, store in a retrieval system or transmit any part of this work without my express written permission. This work is the property of Poppy Soo. Any references to actual people, places or events are for fictional purposes only and not intended to be factual or defamatory. E. L. James owns anything relating to Fifty Shades of Grey. 

 

The tall, slender waiter inquires if I am finally ready to order when my cell phone rings for the third time. He is politely annoyed as he smiles through a long sigh of frustration. Picking up the phone off the table, I hold up my index finger, silently asking for one more minute, and shoot him an apologetic expression. The display screen shows that the call is from my colleague, Jack Hyde. I sympathize with the waiter’s frustration as he walks away to attend to actual customers. As I answer, I make a mental note to leave the young man an extra-large tip. Without any pleasantries, I dive right into a rampage, “Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting here for thirty minutes and I’m starving! If we want to finish this engagement on time, we don’t have time to waste.” Jack dishes out a windy explanation blaming his tardiness on the VP of Quality who supposedly hijacked the last meeting of his day. It’s hard to be fuming mad as I have been in the same situation many times myself, but I’m starving and my stomach is not quite so forgiving. Jack assures me that he will arrive in ten minutes or less, but traffic on Big Beaver Road can be brutal in the early evening hours, so I am not feeling optimistic. “Fine. I’ll see you soon, but I am going to spare the poor waiter and at least order us an appetizer before I die.”

The phone goes silent. I muzzle the ringer and set it on the table. Glancing down, an unfinished report stares at me from the computer screen, the cursor blinking, waiting expectantly for the next word. The Capital Grille is a far cry from Starbucks, not exactly the kind of restaurant where one brings their laptop to work over dinner. A few patrons quietly admonish me with disapproving glances, but there is work to be done if I am going to finally close out our consulting engagement at Beaumont Health System before Friday. My family is expecting me back Thursday night, and I am anxious to finally spend some time at home. I miss my family. For the last two months, I have been driving up to southeast Michigan every Monday morning and trekking back to Indiana on Thursdays. This time I won’t have to return, at least not any time in the near future. 

A deep, thunderous groan accompanied by a dull ache emanates from my belly. I glance around to see if anyone notices the offending noise, but everyone is either eating or engaging in dinnertime conversation; both activities of which I am envious at this point. Oh hell, the report can wait until I return to my hotel room. I hit save, close the lid and move it across the table while scanning the restaurant for my waiter. In the now thirty-five minutes that I have been waiting at the restaurant, ordering nothing more than a glass of water, the waiter has been at my table no less than six times. However, now when I need him, he is nowhere to be found by the naked eye. Figures.  
I sink, dejected, into my chair, when the sonorous sound of a familiar voice catches my ear; a voice I haven’t heard in almost five years. Instantly, my heart skips a beat. Overcome by a brief moment of panic, I draw in a sharp breath to aid my failing organ, but it starts palpating with a ferocity incongruent with my current level of activity. My muscles tighten and a cool chill spreads throughout by body as my skin shudders with horripilation. My eyes begin frantically darting around the room to see who belongs to that smooth, deep voice. Certainly it couldn’t be him. 

Unable to focus, I slow down and glance to my right. Nothing. For over a year, I was as vigilant as a hawk stalking its prey. I kept a keen eye and a sharp ear, hoping to see him or hear his voice one last time. I watched in airports, while on vacation with my family, anywhere I thought there was a slim possibility that our paths might cross. Watching for him became effortless and instinctual, as easy as breathing. I examine the people at the tables in front of me. Nothing. Eventually I realized this obsession although small and secretive was eroding my ability to be present in the moment. Just as I had trained myself to be ever on the lookout, I trained myself to let go and move on resigned to the fact that I would never see him again. 

Then as I slowly turn to my left, there is no mistaking his voice, “Baby, I’m so glad we could have dinner together tonight just the two of us.” My heart sinks, and the butterflies in my belly are instantaneously overpowered by an aching in my chest. As I follow the sound, his body comes into view, standing with his back to me at a table not twenty feet away. He is pushing in the chair of a slender woman with long, brown hair. Always a gentleman. I’m as stunned as if I was witness to someone being resurrected from the dead.  
Although his face isn’t visible, there is no mistaking his profile and voice. Mesmerized, my eyes stay glued to him as he bends down and places a gentle kiss on the top of her head. Who is he with? She is seated with her back towards me, so I can’t see her well enough to decipher whom it might be. Not that I would have any idea. I have never seen him in his natural habitat. 

Part of me wants to shrink and hide, but a bigger part of me wants nothing more than to see his handsome face, to know who he is with, to talk to him, maybe. But it really doesn’t matter what I want because my body is paralyzed. I have so many things I want to ask him. My head is drowning with questions and memories and the shock of seeing him standing so close. My legs won’t move. I am at the mercy of my failing, overloaded nervous system. I try to look away to gain my composure, but I am pulled towards him unable to break his invisible and unknowing hold.

From what I can ascertain, Christian Grey looks exactly the same as the last time I left him almost five years ago. Granted he is wearing clothes this time. His face becomes partially visible as he turns from the woman’s chair, and he is dressed impeccably in a fitted, bright navy suit with brown, Italian, leather shoes. His trademark Richard Mille watch dangles from his left wrist. I never would have guessed when I walked out of the hotel room that morning, it would be five years before I saw him again. Had I known I might have lingered a little longer, kissed him one last time or even said good-bye. Or would I have left sooner?  
Hours seem to pass in the seconds that I stare at him. Suddenly, the waiter startles me back to reality as he plops a fresh glass of water on the table, and my paralysis breaks with the sound of the goblet hitting the wood. Vaguely remembering my hunger, I shake my head trying to escape this suffocating feeling and turn to place my order. As I do, my right hand clips the edge of the glass and although I try catch it, my reflexes are dull from the haziness in my head. Water spills all over the table and my computer. Oh shit! This really wakes me out of my daze. As water flows over the side of the table, I apologize profusely trying to sop up the mess with my incompetent napkin, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

The waiter’s words, “It’s okay, ma’am” do not match the expression of horror on his face. I am clearly his least favorite customer of the day for more than one reason. 

The commotion draws stares from neighboring diners. I stand up and start cleaning up my computer while the waiter goes to retrieve more napkins or perhaps a towel. There is nothing more I can do to rescue my laptop until the waiter returns with reinforcements so I give it a good shake and sit it out of further harm’s way. Kneeling on the opposite side of the table, I begin picking up ice cubes off the floor. As the waiter returns, I look up and see him walking towards me. Our eyes meet, and Christian pauses mid-stride. His face contorts into a quizzical expression revealing that he realizes he knows the woman he is coming to rescue. I flash him an embarrassed half-smile and slightly shrug my shoulders. He elegantly continues towards me. I cannot take my eyes off of his. When he takes the last step to where I am kneeling, he offers me his outstretched hand. Involuntarily, I reach up and place my hand, cold from the ice, into his. His touch sends a warm flush throughout my body, and the heat radiates from my bright crimson cheeks. He pulls me to my feet, and as I rise I examine him up close and personal from his shiny shoes to his thick, wavy brown hair. Standing mere inches apart, our auras intertwine creating an invisible magnetic energy field. I open my mouth to thank him, but no words escape. 

The timing is unbelievable. He never enters my thoughts anymore. That chapter of my life completely expunged from the record, but time cannot erase the past. In mere minutes, my mind is once again flooded and dizzy with a collage of conflicting feelings interlaced with memories and questions, and I cannot process everything quick enough to verbalize a singular, coherent thought. 

Christian turns towards the waiter who has finished cleaning the table and is now wiping down my laptop with a fresh towel. “Thank you. Can you bring the lady a fresh gin and tonic, Gilpin’s if you have it? With two limes.” Christian addresses the waiter with his usual cool confidence. The waiter must think that he is the colleague that I have been waiting on for an eternity. 

“Certainly, sir,” he replies no longer sounding exasperated.

I muster up the ability to utter a sentence, “I was drinking water.” Really? A thousand times I have rehearsed what I would say to him if I ever saw him again. I have composed various speeches to fit my varying moods: an angry soliloquy and a forgiving monologue are among my favorites. Now he stands before me, holding my hand, and I give him my drink order!  
The left side of his mouth curls up into a half smile and he raises his eyebrows. “It looks to me like you could use something stiffer. Still gin and tonic?”  
I sheepishly smile and nod my head. 

Flashing a grin, he exposes a mouthful of symmetrical, beautiful white teeth, and asks, “How are you, Anastasia? It’s been a while.” His tone is genuine and sincere.  
Awhile? Try five years buddy! His words remind me that the last time we communicated I was furious with him. A twinge of anger surges through my brain but I quickly push it away and decide to guard my emotion. He owes me nothing. I slightly straighten my posture as I muster the strength to respond with grace. I answer with conviction and overconfidence, “I’m doing very well, thank you.” That wasn’t a lie. Truthfully things are going very well at work and at home with the kids and my husband. “How have you been?” I furrowed my brow and ask with a concerned note in my voice.

A small chuckle escapes his lips, “I doing great. I’m having dinner with my daughter.” He gestured towards the table where she still sits with her back towards us.  
His daughter! I breathe a quiet sigh of relief before realizing that doesn’t help answer any of my burning questions.

“You will excuse me if I don’t introduce you?” 

I absentmindedly nod. His daughter! This revelation sends my mind reeling, searching for any clues that would put to rest my gnawing queries. Distracted by my own thoughts, I stutter, “No, yeah, I mean, of course.” So much for grace!

“Are you in town for business?”

“I am just finishing up an engagement at Beaumont. I leave on Thursday.” Work is a safe topic. I can talk about work. 

“Working with Beaumont? It’s a great health system,” he replies. “Thursday? Then you have a couple more days in town.” Christian pauses and takes a long, lingering look at me beginning with my face and moving slowly down my body all the way to the toes peeking out from my sandals and then proceeds back up to meet my eyes. His grey eyes flow over my body as if a laser is heating every place he inspects. A devilish grin appears on his handsome face, and he asks in his cool, charming voice, “Would you like to meet for lunch or dinner before you head back?”

With those words, my body nearly melts into a puddle on the floor. I am working hard to maintain my composure because I don’t want the waiter to have to clean up another one of my messes. Do I want to meet him? Alone? Of course, I do! This is the opportunity that I had wanted at least once a day for a solid year. Every fiber of my being is screaming, YES! But, I need to think this through and not blurt out a hasty response. So much has happened over the years. Is it better to meet with him or just walk away satisfied with a final opportunity to say good-bye? Would it be closure or does his devilish grin suggest ulterior motives? Am I strong enough to have dinner with him if I accept his invitation? What good could come of it? My mind starts replaying the events that followed our initial meeting. 

Before I could respond, Jack bounds up to the table and saves me from myself. “Hey, Ana. Sorry it took me so long. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper.” He looks at Christian and back at me trying to assess the situation. He must deem it friendly because he responds with a cheesy grin and an outstretched hand enthusiastically introducing himself, “Hello, I’m Jack Hyde, Ana’s colleague.” 

Christian reciprocates with a polite but skeptical smile and a firm handshake. “Christian Grey. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please excuse me, but I must be getting back to my date.” He slides his hand in his back pocket and retrieves a black, leather wallet. A beautifully engraved business card is placed tenderly in my hand. “Give me a call if you’d like to talk about possible opportunities.” 

Stunned, I grasp the card in my hand and murmur, “Yeah, okay.” Out of Jack’s view, Christian playfully winks at me before turning to walk back to his table.  
Jack sits down, and says, “Great to meet you!” None the wiser to anything that has just transpired, he gives no indication that he wants to explore the topic. He jumps right in anxious to disclose every detail of his afternoon meetings while I only halfheartedly listen. The bulk of my attention focuses on the proposition laid before me.


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner is a disaster. It’s reminiscent of a painful evening I endured almost twenty years ago when my husband, boyfriend at the time and scared to commit, briefly ended our two-year relationship. Concerned by my relentless moping, several of my girlfriends talked me into a blind date with one of those self-absorbed, gym rat types. When we were seated at the restaurant, my ex was in full view with his beautiful, scantily clad companion on full display just two tables away. For an hour and a half, I suffered through a full recount of how my date had transformed himself from a scrawny, nerdy kid to the rare specimen sitting before me. All the while, I devised not so clever ways to steal glances of Jose and his hoochie date. 

Yes, tonight felt very familiar. As usual Jack won’t shut up, and all I want to do is get out of here with my dignity intact. Every single fiber of my being is solely focused on avoiding Christian Grey, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. At one point I consider asking Jack to switch seats to remove the temptation, but I know that gesture would not go unquestioned. The rush of endorphins and hormones has erased my hunger so I pick at my food and move it strategically around my plate to avoid any suspicion. I am powerless over his attraction and despite my best efforts I repeatedly catch my gaze drifting off in Christian’s direction. I try to mask my motivations, but Jack would have to be blind not to notice. 

My only saving grace is Jack’s complete and utter narcissism. This might be the only time in our history that I’m thankful he is monopolizing the conversation. I know better, though, than to mistake Jack for merely a big bag of wind. He is that dangerous combination of intelligence, talent and ego. I do think it odd that he doesn't probe for more information about Christian. It is unlike him not to pounce at the prospect of a business opportunity, usually at the expense of all else. As he eats the last few bites of his steak, I slightly relax comforted by the fact that in all of his incessant talking he hasn’t even mentioned Christian.

When Jack asks to see the dessert menu, it is the last straw. I cannot take this anymore and I feign an ill feeling to get out of here. It’s not a second too soon as the strain of the situation is almost unbearable, and I excuse myself. As I stand up to exit, Jack furrows his brow and his mouth drops. He snaps his fingers and points his index finger squarely in my eyes. It feels as if his finger is penetrating right through me and into the deepest recesses of my psyche. “Christian Grey!” Jack turns to scrutinize Christian, and I let out an audible gasp. He quickly returns his gaze to me. “He’s been profiled in Detroit Business magazine a few times. He’s a big investor. Always talking about rehabbing the city, bringing it back to its glory days. What would he want with a healthcare consulting company?” He put his hand on his chin and looked at me expectantly.

“I don’t know, Jack,” I respond trying my best to sound glib. My white lie is turning into reality as a flood of nausea overwhelms my body. What I do know that I have to get out of the restaurant now. “Maybe he has investments in healthcare. I gotta go, something I ate is really messing with my stomach. We’ll have to talk about this later.” 

“Sure, Ana. Yeah, you don’t look so good.”

Without another word, I race out of the restaurant pausing only for a split second as Christian’s concerned eyes briefly lock on mine. 

When I finally arrive back at my hotel, I quickly lock the door as if it will somehow protect me from my past and from myself. I lean against the door and take a deep breath to collect my thoughts. After a few minutes, I sit down on the edge of the bed and carefully extract the business card from my purse. I stare at it, turning it over in my hands and inspecting the linen paper and gold leaf lettering. Finally, I stand up, and in a defiant act, I dramatically throw it in the trash. Almost immediately, I cave, fish it back out and begin to pace. 

My introspection is interrupted by my phone. The ringtone immediately identifies the caller as my husband. Saved! With a hint of disdain, I toss the business card on the nightstand, and as soon as I answer the phone, I blurt out an emphatic, “I love you.”

“Well, hello! I love you too, honey.” He hesitates for a second before continuing, “Is everything all right?”

Trying my best to be genuine, I reply, “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just miss you.” I add, “I can’t wait to come home.”

“Well we can’t wait for you to come home either. Listen I can’t talk long. I have to go pick up Lizzie. She’s at Anika’s house working on their history project, and I need to work on some photos tonight. But I wanted to call before I got tied up.”

The conversation is short and only a temporary diversion before my mind wanders back to Christian. I resign myself to the fact that I am not going to accomplish any work tonight, and I wash what’s left of my makeup off my face. Political pundits argue back and forth on the television as I crawl into bed. I have no patience for the political rhetoric, and instead of changing the channel I just shut it off. Glancing around for a distraction, I am drawn back to the business card on the nightstand. I pick it up and lay on the bed scrutinizing it for any clues that might answer my burning questions. Coming up empty, my mind replays the twisted events that led up to that fateful first meeting with Christian.


	3. Chapter 3

On a cool October evening in 2012, I sat on the bench at the foot of our bed and slid my feet into a pair of black heels peppered with red flowers; one of my favorite pairs. I stood up and walked over to the bathroom mirror for one last inspection. After smoothing out a wrinkle in the simple black wrap dress draping my body, I was satisfied, and I grabbed my purse before heading out of the bedroom. As I passed the staircase, I called up to the kids, “Hey guys, I’m leaving.” Receiving no response, I increased my volume and slightly sharpened my tone, “Leo. Lizzie. Your mother is leaving.” After a brief moment of continued silence, I jokingly added, “Possibly never to return.”

“Bye, Mom,” Leo yelled over his music.

Lizzie travelled to the top of the stairs, peered down and said. “Oh, you look pretty. Have a good time, and tell Aunt Kate I said hi.” 

“Thanks,” I replied with a satisfied smile, “I will, and you guys have fun tonight too. Cheer for me. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she said as she strode back to her bedroom.

“I love you,” I shouted up to Leo. 

“Yeah, you too, Mom,” was his reply before closing his door. 

Jose was packing up water and blankets in the kitchen prepping to take the kids to a rare nighttime Notre Dame football game. He stopped as I approached the island, smiled with a gleam in his eye, and said with such sincerity, “Why Mrs. Rodriguez, you look so beautiful tonight.” He leaned in and gave me a soft, loving kiss. 

“Thank you, honey,” I replied blushing. “Don’t forget to grab hats and gloves. You know that Lizzie always gets cold.” 

“I got it covered. Don’t worry about us. You just go and have a good time,” he paused. His face fell heavy with concern as he struggled to find the right words. “Tell Kate, if she needs anything at all, I’m just a phone call away.” 

“Alright honey, I will,” I said, empathizing with the unease in his voice. “I love you.” 

As I turned to walk away, Jose playfully swatted my derriere, and exclaimed, “Mmm, mmm. I love you too.” 

I grabbed my trench coat out of the closet, and peering from behind the garage door, suggestively replied, “Maybe later!” before heading out to the car.

It wasn’t unusual this time of year to find our family tailgating on Saturdays or cheering on our beloved Irish from the stands when we were fortunate enough to get reasonable tickets, but tonight I had a long overdue date with my best friend, Kate Kavanagh. Kate and I met in English Composition 101 at Washington State University-Vancouver our freshman year, and we have remained forever friends since. When we moved to South Bend for Jose’s master’s program at Notre Dame, Kate moved to the Windy City to become a crack investigative journalist at the Chicago Tribune. Since college, we have never been separated by more than a two-hour drive. 

Kate was my antithesis. Practically opposites in every way, which is probably why I loved her so much. She towered over me; a long-legged, blonde haired, green eyed picture of femininity. My short, petite stature and mousy brown pixie hair looked ordinary next to her radiant beauty. I treated life like it was something to be cautiously managed, but Kate treated it as if it was something to be fiercely conquered. She commanded attention with her bold style and personality, but she never demanded it. I preferred to stay out of the spotlight, in a corner with a book. I wasn’t above the bright, burning green of woman jealousy, but I never once experienced malicious envy towards Kate. I may have lived vicariously through her from time to time, but she was just too good a person to be envious. 

I hadn’t seen Kate in over four months because busy schedules kept hampering our plans, but tonight was a non-negotiable. We were marking an anniversary of sorts, not the celebratory kind, but the kind that requires the support of a best friend to endure. Two years prior to the day, Kate and I spent the evening huddled in fear in the family room at Northwestern Memorial Hospital impatiently waiting. Our anxiety turned to pain when two physicians and a chaplain entered to tell us that Nicholas Quimby, Kate’s husband of nine years had died following a horrific car accident. They “tried everything to save him, but the injuries were too severe.” In an instant Kate’s life was inconceivably altered, and with those eleven words, her life crashed from the highest height of happiness to the lowest depths of despair: a 35-year-old single mother and widow. 

Understandably, Kate hasn’t been the same since. Her ambitious, spirited nature replaced by subdued pragmatism. Within months after the accident, Kate moved her daughter, Chloe, to Valparaiso, Indiana, the reminders of Nick around every turn in Chicago induced too much suffering to tolerate. She accepted a teaching position at the local university and tried to convince herself that with the prevalence of internet news it offered a more stable career path. 

In May, Kate invited our family to an intimate dinner party she hosted for a few colleagues after the university’s graduation ceremony. It was the last time I saw her, and she didn’t look well. There were signs that she was losing weight again, something she couldn’t afford to do. Her vivacious spirit all but gone, and her vibrant beauty prematurely fading. Time and experience often have a wicked way of fundamentally changing people. 

When I got in the car, I left the long, exhausting week behind and prepared myself for the evening ahead. I had a plan. Kate had been distant recently blaming her absenteeism in this friendship on the rigors of a hectic life, but I suspected the worst. I knew I couldn’t let this go on any longer. We would reminisce and grieve together as was proper and befitting for the occasion, but then I would stage an intervention. I had rehearsed all week, preparing to combat every excuse, denial and objection. I went through the plan one last time as I drove to Café Navarre to confront her. 

Kate chose a restaurant in downtown South Bend that opened in January to rave reviews. Neither of us had made the time to check it out before now, so it would be a new restaurant in which to encourage her to make a new start. 

A slight chill washed over me as I stepped out of the vehicle, and I tightened the belt on my trench coat. The weather was actually pleasant for October in Northern Indiana. The perfect blend of cool and crisp that rejuvenated the body and mind and only required a light coat or sweater: perfect football weather. But that Friday night, I was grateful not to be sitting at the game. 

My watch officially read 6:05 as I approached the restaurant doors. I was notorious for my inability to be punctual, so I was pleased that I had made it with 10 minutes to spare before our reservation. I wanted to be the first face Kate saw when she walked through the threshold. 

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I opened the glass door and entered into a small alcove. The restaurant sat on the former site of the historic American Trust Bank, and one glance revealed that the new owner had gone to great lengths to preserve the character of the old building. The high ceiling was painted light sky blue and bordered in crisp, white vintage ceiling tiles. The tall, elevated windows with curved archways bordered the street letting in the last hour of light before the impending sunset. The white and ecru painted block walls stood in stark contrast to the dark walnut-stained red oak wood of the tables and booths that lined the walls. Twenty or so men and women donned in preppy attire mingled and sipped mixed drinks at a long curved bar topped with beautiful dark grey marble to the left of the entrance. The restaurant had clearly earned its place as a local hot spot.

I approached the hostess podium while taking in the view, and a perky young woman in her early twenties greeted me. “May I help you?” she asked in a pleasing but subdued tone. 

“I’m waiting for my friend. We have reservations for two under Kavanagh.” 

She smiled as she strode out from behind the podium. I stopped her to explain that I wanted to wait for my friend so we could be seated together. Continuing, she informed me that Kate had arrived 10 minutes ago and was already seated. 

“Dang it! I was hoping to get here first,” I replied, frustrated by my tardiness. She beckoned me to follow her upstairs to the mezzanine level that was built as a part of the renovation. As she stepped onto the last stair, she motioned to the right where Kate sat in solitude at a secluded group of four tables. 

I smiled and nodded in gratitude to the hostess who promptly made her way back downstairs. Examining her, my heart was suddenly filled with pity. Hunched over with her hair shadowing her face and shoulders, Kate stared at her phone, looking melancholy and frail. I inhaled sharply in an attempt to draw in the courage I would need to help her out of this pit. 

As I walked towards her, she seemed oblivious to my presence. Just as I intended to announce my arrival, a sudden burst of giddy giggling stopped me midstride. She reared her head back with unabashed laughter and exposed in full view her face and upper body. I was stunned. My initial assessment of her well-being was clearly flawed. I blinked several times to clear my vision and looked intently, studying her. I had arrived so certain that I would find her withering away that I colored the lens through which I initially viewed Kate, but my eyes had deceived me. 

Her blonde hair radiated over her shoulders exposing glowing, healthy skin and a sparkle in her eyes. I hadn’t seen Kate look this good in over two years. I was taken back by the complete and utter physical transformation back to the woman I knew before the accident. 

Relieved, I eagerly walked towards the table. “Something funny?” I probed. 

Startled, she swiftly retracted her phone to her chest and looked up. “Hello, my love!” She gushed as she sat her phone face down on the table and quickly stood up to give me a big hug revealing her slender but fit physique. We stood there locked in an embrace as we swayed back and forth. 

“I’m sorry that I’m late!” I apologized profusely, but Kate quickly brushed it off. 

“It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to be early,” she teased. “I’m just so happy to see you! Anyway it gave me a chance to order a drink and catch up on some emails.” 

“Funny email?” I motioned towards her phone. 

“What? Oh that, no. I was just reading something on Facebook,” she replied flippantly. Always up for a good laugh, I urged her to share. “Oh it was nothing, I can’t remember. Anyway, how are you? I’ve missed you so much,” she quickly changed the subject. 

“I’ve missed you too! We all have. Let me look at you,” I stepped back to get a better look at her, and the transformation was so severe I was overcome by emotion. A lump crept into my throat and tears began to form. “You look amazing!” I said dabbing my eyes. Kate obliged my compliment with a spirited catwalk turn. 

Our reunion was temporarily interrupted by a petite, mature waitress delivering Kate’s cosmopolitan. We took our respective seats on opposite sides of the table, and I ordered a gin and tonic before we were once again alone to continue our conversation. Her phone buzzed and the vibrations reverberated across the table. She picked it up, glanced at the screen, smiled and quickly dismissed the notification before setting it back down. 

“I have to admit that I’ve been rehearsing my intervention all week.” I shared. “But you look like a new woman or an old woman,” I stuttered. “I mean you look like your old self. I’m blown away by the difference since the last time I saw you.”

“Well, I’m finally starting to feel like myself again. Not the same, but familiar. So you can save your intervention. Anyway I owe this to you and Jose, and Chloe, of course” She proclaimed.

“You do?” I answered, perplexed. 

“Yeah. When you guys came to the house in May.”

Not comprehending, I studied her for clues. 

“Come on, Ana. Surely you can’t deny that it was pretty strained.” She continued, “Every time you guys even looked in my direction, I couldn’t avoid the,” she paused to find just the right word, “worry, no, the fear every time you looked at me.” 

“Were we that obvious?” I asked. 

“Yes,” she chided unapologetically. Her tone softened, “I was in a bad place to begin with. I felt like my world was imploding, again. I didn't recognize myself anymore, and I know I was making Chloe’s life miserable. Seeing the pain on your faces, it was inescapable. I thought I was fooling everyone, but that night I realized I wasn’t fooling anyone.”  
It was hard to hear her recount her suffering. I reached across the table to grasp her hands in a compassionate gesture. 

“When you left that night, I laid on my bedroom floor and sobbed.” Her voice cracked. “And then Chloe came in, and she laid on the floor next to me and stroked my arm.” A tear streamed down Kate’s cheek as she continued. “We just laid there while I cried. I missed Nick. I missed our life. I missed Chicago and my job. I missed me. And then Chloe said, ‘I know your sad, mommy, but I love you.’ It was my epiphany moment, when I realized what I had been putting everyone through, including myself, by not letting go. Not moving on. That day I vowed that the next time I saw you, I was going to be in a better place. I was going to be good. Like old times.”   
I got up, sat in the chair next to Kate, and enveloped her in my arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to endure this.” I knew there would be tears, but I wasn’t prepared for this. You never want your loved ones to suffer whether it’s your child or your best friend.

The waitress returned with my gin and tonic, taking us a little by surprise. I thanked her and gave Kate a squeeze. “We’re not quite ready to order yet,” I said before returning to my chair. 

“Take your time. I’ll check back in a little bit to tell you about tonight’s specials,” she said before taking her leave. 

Kate’s eyes followed her as she exited but I suspected the waitress was out of view long before her gaze returned to me and the conversation. “Don’t get me wrong. I still miss Nick more than anyone will ever understand.” She continued, “But I’m ready to start living…” Her thought was interrupted by the vibration of her phone. 

I looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to check her phone. “Do you need to get that? Could it be Chloe?”

“No, it’s fine.” She quickly dismissed it before taking my hands in hers. She looked me square in the eyes and said, “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me for being your friend.” I beamed at her, “It is one of the great privileges in my life.” I furrowed my brow and had to ask, “Can it really be that easy though? A lightbulb moment and everything is back to normal?”

“Easy?” she chuckled with sarcasm. “It’s not normal, it’s like, next to normal, and nothing about this has been easy. But my therapist has been helping me find the gratitude in all of the great times I had with Nick, find the happiness in every day, and just cope when things get tough.” She laughed while recalling, “I met with Dr. Robbins the Tuesday after the barbecue, and it was probably the first time in over a year of appointments that I didn’t sob during our weekly session. I think she was more excited than I was. I am probably like her biggest professional accomplishment.”

The power in her words set the tone for the most amazing dinner. We laughed and shared like old friends for the first time in two years. Much of the evening was devoted to fondly reminiscing about Nick, but we also caught up on the kids and work and even started sketching out plans for a girls’ weekend. 

The restaurant lived up the hype. I indulged in the most delectable smoked duck with Brussel sprouts and baby carrots, and in between interruptions from her phone, Kate delighted in the salmon with miso and jasmine rice. Our waitress displayed the perfect combination of distance and service leaving us free to catch up without ever wanting for attention. More patrons filled the restaurant as the evening progressed until it was packed with revelers by 8:30pm. Not wanting to overstay our welcome but not yet ready to leave each other’s company, we decided to relinquish our table to incoming guests and move our date across the street for dessert. 

We walked arm in arm down the street dodging fans. I was reluctant to let go having found my best friend again. Caught up in the excitement and playfulness of the evening, I pulled her close and with a smirk inquired, “So do you think you might start dating?” I wanted nothing more than for Kate to once again find the kind of happiness she enjoyed with Nick. She kept walking in stride with me but stared straight ahead with an intent gaze. I could tell by her expression that I had crossed a line, asked too soon. We were having such a good time, I momentarily set aside that it was the second anniversary of her husband’s sudden death, and I immediately wished I could have redacted my question. I was just about to apologize for my tactlessness when she broke the silence. 

“I’m getting out there,” she said casually and turned to study my reaction.

I thought about those words for a moment, and curious asked, “What does that mean? You’re getting out there?”

We approached the doors of a café that was known for good chocolate, good coffee, and a mean slice of cheesecake. Cozy tables filled every nook and cranny. It was the funky kind of place where you could listen to local folk singers or play a board game. Kate opened the door, and as I passed by her to enter she said, “Let’s just say my vibrator is collecting dust.”

My mouth dropped as I turned to gape at her. “You’ve been holding out on me!” I demanded. “Who are you dating.” She motioned towards the room that housed the dessert counter and I followed obediently. I prodded, “Does he work at the university?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m dating, exactly” she smiled mischievously and turned to examine the variety of cakes and cookies. 

“You’re not exactly dating, but your vibrator is collecting dust,” I whispered. “What are saying? Do you have a bootie call?”

“I think the raspberry white chocolate cheesecake looks good. What are you gonna have?” she teased. 

“If I get the carrot cake will you explain yourself?”

She grinned, “Yes, yes. Come on let’s order.” 

Only after getting our dessert and finding a secluded table was Kate ready to talk. “I haven’t been dating, but I’ve been out a few times.”

Anxious to know more, I pressed her. “I think you have forgotten who you are talking to, but this is me, Ana, and I’m going to need more details than that. Go on,” I encouraged her. “Who is he? What’s his name? Is he devilishly handsome?”

“Calm down and I’ll dish the details,” she commanded. “So about two months ago I realized how much I missed being touched by a man. But I don’t want a relationship, and I absolutely don’t want to expose Chloe to the idea of me dating or introduce her to a boyfriend. I’m not anywhere near ready for all of that.” She took a bite of cheesecake, but I couldn’t eat while I hung on her every word.

Then in dawned on me. “This is why your phones been blowing up all night,” I speculated. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Her face broke out in a coquettish smile. Toying with me she took a long drink before continuing. “Listen, I just needed a man. I don’t need a commitment.”

“I understand that. I’ve thought you needed a man for a long time. You’re young and beautiful and human. No one can fault you for that.” I assured her.

“So, I used a website where I could find exactly what I was looking for. I’ve found a couple a guys on there, and…” 

I interrupted her. “So you’ve found this guy on like Match.com or what e-Harmony?”

She grinned, “Well, not exactly.” She paused to gauge my reaction. I got the sense that she was reluctant to continue. She was holding something back.

“Kate, it’s me,” I reassured her. 

“I know, I know,” she paused. “It’s a website where you can find someone to have sex with. It’s not really a dating site.” She sighed and some of the tension drained from her shoulders as if saying the words out loud were a relief.

I was surprised, but I wanted to be careful not to judge. Not knowing exactly how to respond, I took a bite of cake to buy time as I thought through my response. “So you slept with a guy you found on a sex website? Does he live in Valpo?” All of the sudden a mortifying thought crossed my mind, “Oh God, please tell me you’re not advertising for sex on Craig’s List!”

“Oh my God, no! How could you even say that! I’m not stupid or desperate!” she was defensive. “Listen, I’ve found a few nice, normal guys on this site, and no, none of them live in the area. I have no interest playing in my own back yard. I don’t want any trail back to Chloe or the university.” She grinned as she reflected. “I’ve been with two guys once and another guy twice. Ana, I know it sounds bad, but it’s not like that. Think of it as a no strings attached Match.com where you can cut out the bullshit and focus on getting your needs fulfilled.” 

I continued to eat my cake trying to understand as I listened to Kate share the details of her escapades. Unable to stop myself, I went into Mom mode and grilled her about the potential dangers of meeting strange men for sex. She guaranteed me that she was taking precautions, never giving her real name, leaving the details written on a notepad on the kitchen table, and only meeting men on nights that Chloe stayed over at a friend’s house. My mind was reeling. I went from being worried about Kate because she was deteriorating to being worried because she was demonstrating extremely risky, dangerous behavior. I didn’t want to push her away, so I tried to remain open while extracting more information.

“Ok, let’s back up for a minute and help me understand. So how did you find out about this website? How can you be sure you’re not hooking up with a deranged killer?” I inquired.

“I’m an investigative journalist,” she reminded me. 

Quickly scanning my mind through all of her pieces in the Tribune, I came up blank. “What’s the name of this site? I don’t remember you doing a story on dating websites, or, sex websites, or whatever.”

“I didn’t investigate it for work,” she hesitated. “It’s called adult friend locator dot com, and I investigated for Nick and me. We used the site a couple of times.”

My jaw dropped. With those words this conversation took a sideways turn I was not expecting. Her declaration left me speechless.

“You know, to keep things, interesting. How do you and Jose keep it exciting?” She turned the tables on me.

Fixated on the idea that she and Nick were intimate with other people, I struggled to reply. “I don’t know. We have a great sex life.” Defensively, I added, “We don’t need any help. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“You’ve never had any unfulfilled fantasies? Never wanted to explore or push the boundaries?”

I laughed. “My fantasies are about making partner at the firm or Lizzie getting a swimming scholarship at a Division I school. I don’t even have time to think about sexual fantasies.”

“I’m surprised at you. You’re confusing the word goals with fantasies,” she protested. “I know you too well. You read too many love stories not to have any fantasies. There has to be something that you fantasize about when you’re alone.”

I glanced down at the table, and the empty plates provided me an excuse to change the tenor of the discussion. I stood up, cleared the table and put our dishes in a nearby bin.   
When I returned to the table, I tried to steer the attention back to Kate, I asked, “So when you said you’ve been with ‘two guys once,’ did you mean you’ve been with two guys one time on separate occasions or one time you were with two guys?”

“Which one is more palatable?” she laughed while giving her response. 

Not sure how to counter, but completely aware that her response clearly indicated the latter, I looked at my watch. “How late do you have a babysitter tonight? You have an hour drive home, should we continue this conversation another time?”

We had reached an odd sort of impasse. The emotions of the evening were starting to overwhelm me, and I needed time to process everything that had happened. Accompanying Kate to her car, we vowed to get together again soon, and I made her promise to text me the details before her next hook-up for safety. Torn, I was worried for her safety but also glad that she had some physical contact. We parted ways with nothing but love and a big hug to express it.

I don’t remember how I got home that night, my memory blindly guiding my actions as I drove through streets busy with football traffic. Distracted by the wild turn of events, I inventoried and tried to process the events of the evening. When I arrived home, I turned the car off and sat in the garage alone for a few minutes. I resolved to tell Jose everything that happened at the restaurant but to leave the café revelations to myself.


	4. Chapter 4

The weekend passed as most weekends do. Take Lizzie to swim practice Saturday morning. Buy groceries. Pick Lizzie up from practice. Put away the groceries. Make lunch. Read a book. Have dinner with friends. Sometimes go to a gallery show, but this weekend it was have dinner with friends. Go to bed. Start all over on Sunday. Attend church. Brunch with the family. Straighten up the house. Watch a movie. Make dinner. Prepare for the week ahead. And the beginning of the week had followed an all too familiar pattern as well. 

The only thing different this time was two nagging thoughts that consumed me. First, was Kate safe? I knew Kate to be smart, savvy, kind, classy, and incredibly fun to be around. When she met Nick they both complemented and perfected one another. Their dinner parties were notorious: culinary delights with the perfect mix of interesting guests. But it wasn’t just parties, they added an element of excitement and interest to everything. After two days of contemplation, I came to the realization that nothing about their life together was dull so why wouldn’t they be true to form and keep it interesting in the bedroom? 

Initially, I thought Kate needed to be saved from putting herself in potentially dicey situations, but I knew wasn’t giving her enough credit. She was a competent, grown woman who could make her own informed choices, and who was I to stand in her way? There was no denying that Kate seemed to be in a much better place and I hadn’t seen her that happy in a long time. I realized that my place was to support my best friend just like I had been doing for almost two decades. 

“How do you and Jose keep it exciting?” Kate’s question reverberated ceaselessly through my head as if to punctuate every rote activity and habit. I seriously contemplated her query, and as hard as I tried to make things sound exciting, there was no denying that we had gradually settled into a comfortable routine. Before our dinner conversation I wasn’t even aware of how mundane life had become, but after, the pattern was revealed with every passing hour. In retrospect, if I was honest with myself, it wasn’t so much happenstance as it was a calculated effort to avoid the mistakes of my parents, to build a successful life worthy of the American dream. Although I couldn’t definitively discern if it was a conscious or subconscious effort. 

I made a list of all the exciting things that had happened over the last year. We bought a new car, a red Toyota Prius. We had previously always bought used. Leo had a saxophone solo in the 6th grade band concert. Lizzie made the pre-senior group at her swim club. We took the kids to Aulani, the Disney resort in Oahu, for spring break. All very nice things that, quite frankly, didn’t rank too high on the excitement scale. 

I searched hard for signs that Jose and I still had some fire left in our relationship. Jose always got me the same anniversary, birthday and Christmas presents: season tickets to the theater, a spa gift certificate and a piece of jewelry, in that order. All gifts that I enjoyed but predictable to say the least. We were only intimate in the evenings after the kids were in bed, and the frequency was dictated by our energy level; often times forgoing it all together because one of us was tired, wasn’t feeling well, or had an early meeting. As much as I hated to admit it, occasionally good television even supplanted horniness. I counted a total of four sexual positions we had employed over the last year. The fact that I could even come up with a number was just depressing. 

If I was honest with myself, it had been years since I was truly out of my comfort zone, and even then the reason was a new job. I had been so focused on advancing at work and raising the kids that I wasn’t even cognizant of how ordinary life had become. It snuck up on us, but Kate’s verbal challenge put it smack dab in my face. 

I resolved that I was going to be the catalyst for change and take charge of creating excitement in our lives, and today was the day I was going to start. I knew it was going to be a busy morning because I was starting a new assessment engagement for St. Mary’s in Saginaw, Michigan. After seeing Jose and the kids off for the day, I walked into my office, turned on the computer, and pulled up my calendar. At the sight, I let out a deep groan. There were no breaks built into a four-hour block of back to back stakeholder interviews from 9:00am-1:00pm. I peeked at the clock which read 7:18am. Typically, I would take a shower and get dressed, but one of the perks of working remotely from home was that the person on the other end of the phone was oblivious to whether I was wearing a suit or pajamas. Reluctantly, I sat down to start working early knowing that I was going to duck out prematurely. Not a particularly exciting way to start the day, but I just had to make it until late afternoon when I could execute my plan. 

My ability to stay focused during the meetings was significantly diminished by my excitement. Fortunately for me, one after another, all four of the executives I interviewed provided predictable answers highlighting common themes that faced all too many of the nation’s hospitals. The assessment wouldn’t be finished for several weeks, but the report was already writing itself. 

Today was Jose’s early day at the museum, and he would be home in a few hours. On Tuesdays, he always left early to pick the kids up from school for the carpool and take an hour run before dinner. A sandwich of peanut butter and strawberry jam and leftover broccoli served as lunch before I hopped in the shower. Afterwards, I slipped on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, blew my hair dry, and put on a little natural makeup. I wanted to look good but not too good so as not to raise any suspicion. 

Annoying beeps chimed from my computer with every incoming email pulling my drifting attention back to work. Still I couldn’t focus, so I decided to call a colleague to help pass the time. We talked about work for a few minutes but quickly slipped into the familiar cadence of friends, catching up on family and her upcoming vacation plans. Unfortunately, our chat was cut short by a client call that she had to take. Once again I found myself watching the clock.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the garage door opened, and I darted into the kitchen to greet everyone. “Hey guys! How was your day?” I asked overenthusiastically as they filed into the house. 

Jose gave me a kiss on the cheek before replying, “Good. How’s your day been?”

“It’s been a day. Glad it’s almost 5 o’clock,” I said with a broad smile. “And how was your day?” I directed my question to the kids before they could slip off to their respective rooms.

“Fine,” was all I could get out of my son. I always thought that boys wouldn’t be brooding until their teens, but Leo was starting early. 

I scowled at him in disapproval.

“Well my day was good,” Lizzie shared. “But I have a bunch of homework before swim practice so I’m going to get started on it.”

“Sounds good. I’m gonna change and get a run in before dinner.” Jose acted like he was telling us something that we didn’t already know. 

The last thing I wanted to do was return to my office and work while I waited for Jose to get back. In an attempt to keep the kids engaged, before they scattered, I suggested we make brownies as an afterschool snack. 

“Don’t you have to work?” Leo said with disinterest.

“Yeah I have a few more things to do before I shut down for the day, but I just thought it might be fun to make a homemade snack.” I upheld pretty strict rules about bothering mom on work time. I learned early on in this job that in order to be productive working from home one had to maintain discipline during the workday. The kids knew that they were only allowed to come in the office in an emergency, and although I would often pop out to ask about their day, it was never for more than a few minutes. 

Lizzie shook her head and proceeded to the staircase. Jose was already on his way to the bedroom, and Leo said he wasn’t hungry, leaving me no choice but to meander back to the dreaded office. 

Desperate to kill some time, I logged my billable hours before grabbing my phone and thumbing through social media. This kept me blindly occupied until finally, I heard Jose walk through the house to the bedroom where he would predictably hop in the shower. This was the moment I had been waiting for all day, and my heart raced with anticipation as I slowly made my way out of the office and down the hall to the bedroom. 

I stood outside of the closed door until I could hear the water running. That was my cue to enter and put my excitement plan into motion. I stepped out of my jeans and panties, and threw my shirt and bra in the pile on the floor. The dresser mirror revealed a respectable physique for 38 years old. I turned to examine myself from a different angle which only built up my confidence as I prepared to surprise Jose. I decided, however, that simply naked wasn't going to be enough after all he had seen me nude countless times over the years, and I was going to something spicy. I quietly opened my oft neglected lingerie drawer and rifled around for some appropriate attire. Stuffed at the bottom was a delicate, white matching bra and panty set trimmed in pretty lace. I donned the garments, took one last look in the mirror, and snuck into the bathroom.

The glass shower doors exposed my husband standing under the spray of water, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, oblivious to my presence. Briefly, I took advantage of the opportunity to appreciate his body. The years had added a few pounds creating a little round belly, but he still looked good. I couldn’t have asked for a better entrance. An eager smile spread across my face as I opened door and slid onto the built-in bench at the far end. 

“Hello?” Jose called out frantically trying to wipe the water and soap suds from his eyes. 

“Why, hello, sexy” I replied in my most provocative voice. I slightly leaned my back against the wall while spreading my legs open wide. Water droplets sprinkled my body saturating the fabric of my bra and panties revealing the subtle details of my hidden body. 

“What are you doing?” Jose sounded surprised yet intrigued. 

My hands slid down my belly and along my legs. I enticed him by replying, “I’m seducing my husband.” Before he could say a word, I stood up and pulled his body towards mine on the periphery of the gushing water. Wrapping my hands around the back of his head, I drew him in for a carnal kiss. He eagerly reciprocated, and I could feel his excitement grow against my damp body. 

A warm, tingling sensation radiated from within my soaking wet panties as Jose moved his hands down my back to my buttocks. Sensually caressing my body, he slowly moved his way up to remove my bra while our mouths were intertwined in a passion play. Peeling it off my breast, the lingerie fell to the floor, and Jose wasted no time. He fondled my exposed body with zeal while nibbling his way down my neck. I moaned in approval.

I reciprocated by sliding my hand up his thigh, and taking his member in my hand before sliding it between my thighs. The cotton panties separating our flesh added welcome friction as he slowly moved his hips back and forth. 

The spontaneity and Jose’s unquestioning eagerness were as potent as the physical intimacy. My breath quickened as he bent down to slide off my panties. He stepped around me and sat down fully exposing his length. I responded by bending down in front of him when a faint knocking interrupted my advancement. 

“Do you hear that?” Jose whispered. “It’s one of the kids!” He sounded panicked like we had been caught in the middle of an illegal act. 

“They can wait,” I insisted not wanted to lose the momentum. 

“Dad? Is mom in there? She’s not in her office and I really need some help with my math.” 

“If we don’t answer, she’ll go away,” I whined. He shook his head no to which I nodded. “Yes she will. I can help her in a few minutes.”

Lizzie interrupted again yelling, “Dad? Mom?”

I hung my head in frustration and caught a glimpse of Jose’s deflation. Realizing that the mood was too compromised to continue I shouted back, “Yeah, Lizzie. I’ll be out in a minute to help you with your math.”

“I’m sorry,” Jose consoled, “this was a really nice surprise.” 

I stood up dejected and denied. “Thanks,” was all I could mutter in my disappointment. 

Jose reached for a washcloth and began to wipe my face. “Your mascara ran a little.”

He was rubbing my cheek hard so I took the cloth to gently wiped under my eyes. 

Teasing, he smiled and said, “You look a little like Alice Cooper.”

“That’s just great!” I said sarcastically and I quickly exited the shower to dry off, get dressed and help with the homework. All I wanted was to prove to myself that we could be impulsive and exciting but instead I got pre-algebra.


	5. Chapter 5

Still reeling from the outcome of Tuesday’s events, I poured my energy into work over the next few days. It might have soothed both my ego and my libido had Jose and I picked up where we left off Tuesday night, but once again by the time the kids went to bed and Jose finished editing some photographs he was too tired. I suspected that he finished in the shower while I helped Lizzie, and the thought of that really ticked me off.

It was late afternoon and the head of our consulting division was introducing the latest addition to our team, a guy named Jack Hyde, when my cell phone buzzed. I grabbed it off my desk and was excited to find a text from Kate. 

KK: Hello, love! What are you doing? Do you have time to talk?

Just seeing her words put a smile on my face.

Ana: Hi! How are you? I’m on a call. Friday afternoon project management meeting. What’s up? 

KK: Finishing grading papers before I go pick up Chloe. It was so great seeing you last week! We need to get together again soon.

Jack was detailing his educational merits and past work history in the background. Although I was only half-heartedly listening, he seemed like a good hire. We were a little short staffed lately, and I welcomed anyone who could relieve the burden. 

Ana: Definitely! You need to bring Chloe over. It’s been too long since we’ve seen her. I miss my Goddaughter. 

KK: She has a slumber party tonight, but it’s a date. Speaking of which, I wanted you to know I’m meeting a friend tonight.

Ana: Great. Glad to hear you’re getting out! Are you doing anything fun?

Kate didn’t immediately respond. While I waited for her answer, I refocused on the meeting. On this weekly call each consultant was responsible for providing an update on their current projects. My colleague, Bridget, was rattling through her list when Kate finally texted me back. As soon as I read it I felt so stupid. I should’ve known what she insinuating.

KK: The plan is dinner and drinks before heading to the hotel. I promised I would give you the details before my next rendezvous.

Ana: I’m jealous. I’ve been trying to get some all week.

KK: Lol! You can come meet us. I’m sure that he wouldn’t object to two beautiful women!

Ana: HAHA! You’re hilarious!

I chuckled at the thought. Through my laughter I realized that my name was being called in my headset. I almost forgot about the meeting in the background.

“Ana, you’re up. Are you there?” my boss inquired.

“Did she drop off the call?” another person chimed in.

“She’s still on the WebEx.”

I scrambled to grab my notes and take my line off mute. “Sorry. I was talking on mute.” It was a handy excuse that people routinely used on conference calls. Anxious to continue my conversation with Kate, I quickly updated the team on my projects. As soon as the attention moved on to another teammate, I finished my response to Kate. 

Ana: What’s his name? What hotel? Where? Are you spending the night?

KK: Jeff. Hilton Garden Inn in Tinley Park. I don’t know if we’ll spend the night. Depends on how it goes. It’s possible that we may not even go to the hotel. Depends on the chemistry during dinner. 

I couldn't’ decide if I was comforted or concerned by her comment. 

Ana: Last name? Please tell me you’ve talked to this guy? Do you at least anticipate there will be chemistry?

KK: YES! We've been talking and texting for a couple weeks. I don’t know his last name and he doesn’t know mine. A modicum of privacy is customary. 

Ana: I guess that makes sense. You should probably give me his phone number just in case. 

KK: Alright, I’ll send it in a minute.

Ana: Ok. Well, I hope you have a great time. Be safe. Call me if you need anything. I can be your out. And text me as soon as you’re home. I expect to hear details!

The meeting concluded just as I was finishing up with Kate. I completely missed the review of upcoming projects so I would have to listen to the recording later. 

I sat back in my chair and tried to imagine what it must be like to meet someone in person for the first time knowing you’re headed to a hotel for a night of raw debauchery. It must be exhilarating and nerve wracking at the same time. A heightened sexual energy hanging in the air as you size one another up over dinner and drinks. It sounded exciting but also like my worst nightmare: being on display for judgement. Am I worthy or not? Although in Kate’s case, I imagined that she was the one doing the judging because I couldn’t fathom anyone not finding her worthy. 

Nick was a sophisticated business man, but before him, Kate never really limited her options to one type of guy. As long as he made her laugh, knew how to have a good time, and was easy on the eyes, she was game. One summer in college she dated this grungy musician who always reeked of pot. He could really play the guitar though, and we got backstage at all the best local shows that summer. Our senior year she had it bad for a rugged outdoorsy type, and they were always hiking, camping, and kayaking. He even talked her into mountain climbing a few times. When she moved to Chicago, she started dating a motorcycle riding tattoo artist. I swear that guy had a death wish. I wondered what type of guy Kate was meeting tonight. Was she looking for someone like Nick or the exact opposite? My daydreaming was interrupted by the text containing Jeff’s phone number.

Ana: Thanks. Can you send me a picture of your “date”? You know in case I need to identify him in a lineup.

KK: I don’t have a picture but you can see some on the website. His screen name is hornyhardnhung.

Ana: Really?? Really!!

Despite her variety in men. I couldn’t even remotely fathom Kate speaking to someone who would choose that as a moniker. 

KK: Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. It’s not like that. I gotta go get Chloe, but I’ll text you when I get home. Love ya!

The computer screen was dark having timed out while musing about Kate’s tryst. Moving the mouse reanimated the display and revealed the report I was working on prior to the meeting. I needed to finish the recommendations section before I could send it out to the client, and I had just made a commitment in front of my entire department to complete it by Monday morning. I reread the last paragraph to remind myself where I left off and began typing. 

Three paragraphs in, I was stuck. Once again, I found myself uncharacteristically distracted which was happening all too frequently over the last week. I had Kate to thank for that. Nosiness was getting the better of me, and I grabbed my personal laptop off an adjacent filing cabinet. I typed “adultfriendlocator.com” into the browser bar intent to see what this guy looked like. Not sure what to expect, a very young girl, I say girl because she couldn’t have been more than 19, seductively greeted me on a home screen that touted being the world’s largest sex and swinger community. Young females dressed in skimpy outfits dotted the page as I scrolled down, and erotic enticements and promises of quick, easy and hot adult dating abounded. This counter culture community boasted 52,498,185 members. Unbelievable! The number was truly astounding. It made me feel naive as if I was the only woman on the planet not in on the secret. 

Apprehension overcame me. Already well outside of my comfort zone, I couldn’t access any content without signing up. Fearing that signing up might be akin to opening Pandora’s box, I sat back, gazed at the screen and attempted to apply some logic to this decision. If I signed up, I could check out this guy and get an understanding of what my best friend had gotten herself in to. On the other hand, my computer might become infested with porn. Someone might find out that I had visited this lascivious website. I might see things that I would rather not. The cons definitely outweighed the pros. It felt dangerous, like playing with fire, but despite that, I wanted to look. The pull was so unusually strong, like a moth drawn to the flame. 

Thinking a change of scenery might help me clear my head, I left the computer open and walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. What the hell! I was looking for a little fire in my life: just a spark to help me know I was alive. Besides, it wasn’t like I was going to do anything but look up a picture. I was being an overly cautious prude I decided, and I marched back into my office prepared to sign up.

The process looked really easy, just five simple questions. Birthday, country, and zip code were all no brainers. Next I identified myself as a woman looking for a man which sounded simple enough, but actually there were a lot of choices. Man looking for a couple. Woman looking for a transgender. Couple looking for a couple. The sheer volume of options made me a little anxious, probably because I realized this was more involved than I originally thought. I reminded myself that this was just a formality I had to go through to check out Kate’s date. The only thing left to do was to hit the “Register Now” button. Butterflies churned in my stomach and my hand slightly shook, but I mustered the nerve to proceed. Expecting to be redirected to some type of search functionality, I was dismayed when the site asked for more information including an email address, a user name and a brief introduction. I sat back in my chair and let out a deep sigh. There was no way I could sign up with my email address so I’d have to think this through. 

Oblivious to the time, I was startled as I heard the kids walking through the house. The neighborhood carpool brought them home from school on Fridays. I immediately shut the computer and dashed out of the room closing the door behind me as if the whole room was somehow tainted. After I pressed them for information about their day, I waited until I was certain they were safely occupied before returning to promptly clear my browser history and put the computer away.

I forced myself to finish the report for my client before exited my office again. After Jose got home, we mulled around the house for a little bit, but I wasn’t feeling particularly motivated to do anything except figure out how to see those pictures. I wasn’t accustomed to keeping secrets, not big ones anyway. A good marriage is based on trust and honesty. And this secret and my intentions were already haunting me a little. I felt like the narrator in The Tell Tale Heart whose guilt was revealed by the sound of his victim’s beating heart in the floorboards. Although not nearly as intense, my guilt was focused on the computer sitting in my office silently calling to reveal my afternoon activities. 

I decided it would be best to get out of the house, and we decided to take the kids to the mall for dinner and a little shopping. The cool weather and their recent growth spurts warranted new jeans. As per usual, Leo went to one store, tried on one pair of jeans and bought multiple identical pairs. Lizzie, on the other hand, had us waltzing from one end of the mall to the other in search of the perfect pair. We enjoyed a nice evening together, but all I really wanted to do was get back home to attend to my unfinished business.

The house was finally quieted down two hours after we pulled into the driveway. I wanted to finish up some work so it didn’t linger and ruin the rest of my weekend, or at least, that’s what I told Jose. In reality, I curled up at the end of the couch with a soft, fleece blanket and my computer and turned on the television to provide some background noise. I strategically positioned myself out of view of anyone who decided they were in need of a midnight snack and set out to uncover the identity or at least the appearance of Mr. Horny, Hard and Hung. It was after 11 o’clock and I still hadn’t received a text from Kate so I assumed that there was chemistry. 

After careful consideration I determined that a new email address would be in order using an unfamiliar server. Wanting to avoid any possible trace back to me, I chose the most nondescript female name I could think of, Jane Doe. Janedoe7949@hotmail.com would be the handle for my email, and a shortened version would be my user name: JD7949. Evidently there were a lot of people in the world with the same idea as Janedoe was quite a popular handle. With that step out of the way I could proceed to sign up and join the world’s largest sex and swinger website. For one night and one night only, I would be member number 52,498,186. After I input all of the required information and chose a password, it was time to write an introductory opening. The site wouldn’t let you proceed without a personal primer. Having never been on the site, I had no idea what people normally wrote as an introduction. What does one say when signing up to seek the perfect partner or partners for gratuitous sex? I opted to accurately represent my intentions and chose “Just browsing.” I chuckled at the thought of browsing through a catalog to choose someone to sleep with. 

The moment of truth finally arrived. I selected the “Sign Up” button and after a short delay was taken to an authentication screen. It was easier to sign up for life insurance than this website! Finally, after logging into my new email account and activating my registration, I was redirected to the actual site. 

Regardless of what appeared on the computer, I knew I wouldn’t be prepared. I hadn’t ever even looked at a pornography site, so it’s no wonder that I couldn’t have imagined what to expect. The page was covered in individual one inch by one inch pictures of men of all ages and ethnicities, many of them located right in my own town. Young hard-bodied men bared sculpted abs while others opted for face pictures in an assortment of poses. But many chose to show off their most prized possession in all its glory. There was penis everywhere: ranging from small to quite large, semi-hard to fully erect, solo to in the act. It took me a few minutes just staring at the page to digest the openness of it all. It truly was a place to circumvent all traditional notions of connection. 

I couldn’t help but be drawn to the pictures due to years of learning and appreciating the finer points of both good and bad photography through Jose. I was particularly drawn to a photo that was shot from behind exposing an incredibly well-endowed member dangling between two tanned, toned legs. The lighting perfectly highlighted his assets. I wanted to know the intricate details of how he obtained that shot. He was advertising for a female on a sex website. Did someone take the picture for him? Did he set up a tripod? How did he achieve that lighting effect? At first glance, it appeared as though most of the men on the screen didn’t go to any extra lengths to capture a great picture, but this one definitely stood out as almost artistic. 

As I stopped pondering this pose, I inadvertently moved my mouse which hovered over another man’s picture bringing up a snapshot of his profile. There were three small thumbnails of a chubby man lying on his stomach. At first glance, I suspected that he had a rash on his back, and I pondered why anyone would post pictures of a skin issue on a site like this. Upon closer inspection, I realized the red marks in clean, linear patterns resembled a methodical lashing. Oh! He was advertising his fetish. As disturbed as I was by this revelation, I was also pleased that I was starting to decipher the mysteries of the site. 

When I had sufficiently recovered to remember my original objective, I found the search option in the banner bar and put in Jeff’s screen name. The search results pulled up the profile of a man whose single posted photo revealed a fit, faceless man lying on his back. Gripped in his hand was his thick, very long, hard, shaft. I suppose one doesn’t want to be let down by a screenname, and based on his picture, Jeff definitely didn’t misrepresent. He introduced himself with the tagline: “28-year-old gentleman looking for intelligent, beautiful, charismatic woman for FWB.” 28! Go cougar Kate! Google helped me decipher FWB: friends with benefits. I should’ve known that. There were parts of his profile that I couldn’t access without paying a monthly fee, but I had what I came for.

I debated whether or not to clear my browser history and go to bed. An overwhelming urge to study the site as an anthropologist would study a previously undiscovered tribal civilization prompted the pause. Just as I hit the home button to conduct some research, the grandfather clock that sat in our dining room chimed midnight. I would have to get up early to take Lizzie to swim practice. I closed the computer, my one night of membership in the sex and swinger’s world had come to an end.


End file.
